Elfwine's Dilemma
by hannah.jpg
Summary: An embarrassing, secret meeting during one's adolescence can hardly be counted a precursor for mutual, romantic happiness. A slightly crack pairing. Elfwine/OC
1. Chapter 1

_Written for funkytoes . I had wayyy too much fun writing this._

* * *

 _Year 34 of the Fourth Age._

Elfwine stopped in his tracks, the face of the young woman he had just passed in the corridor sinking into his mind. She was extraordinarily familiar — and yet not familiar enough. Where had he seen her before? He turned back and opened his mouth, intending to ask her, but the last trail of her silver skirt disappeared around a corner and he cursed. Did he dare make a fool of himself by chasing after her and then ask her her name? No, if they truly were acquainted he would deserve every whit of censure she would surely give him. Though he could barely recall her features, he did recall feeling as if he had done wrong just in the moment of meeting her large, brown eyes.

Where in Arda had he met her before?

It had not been recent, that much he knew. Elfwine had been away for the last eighteen months, dividing time between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. He certainly had not met her in the Mark nor during his recent stay in Gondor, for he would have remembered her. And yet he did not. He growled under his breath, hating his decrepit memory. Was he getting old?

"Elfie!"

He turned to see his youngest sister hurtling down the corridor with so much enthusiasm that she nearly tripped over her own feet. He caught her and swung her in the air, her unabashed giggles filling the air. "Now, miss," he said, setting her down and putting his hands on his hips in mock displeasure. "Are you not supposed to be at your studies?"

"No studies on holidays," Léofwyn said, puffing up her chest and looking him in the eye. "Mum said."

"Béma!" Elfwine said, and held out his hand for her to take, which she did, and they set off towards the family chambers. "Mother was not so lenient when I was in the schoolroom. I hope you appreciate that, little miss."

"Mum says I'm too little to sit down very long," his sister said, and a frown crossed her face. "I wish I was bigger like you."

He laughed. "You are not very little," he said. "You could not even talk when I left! Do you know your addition tables yet?"

Léofwyn's recitations kept them occupied on their journey, and when he swung the door open into the living quarters she stopped in the middle of eight-plus-three. "Mum! Elfie's here!"

Mother was sitting at a desk by the window, and when Léofwyn ran towards her, she put down a quill so that the child could climb in her lab. "Good morning, Elfwine!" the queen said, smiling at him as he closed the door and found a seat on a low, cushioned bench. "I did not expect to see you so early. You returned so late last night!"

Elfwine shrugged. "I am not as tired as I thought."

"You may regret that attitude later," Mother said, and Léofwyn poked her cheek.

"Mum, is it time to go to the festival yet?"

"Not yet, sweetling. Once your da come back, we will all go together."

"Why?"

"Because it is much more enjoyable to celebrate Midsummer's Day together, as a family."

"Where's Friede and Synnifa?"

"They are tidying their bedchamber."

"Why?"

"Because it is terribly messy."

"Where's Éomund?"

"He is in the stables."

"Why?"

"He intends to enter his horse into the show competition, so Sunbolt must be groomed very well today."

Léofwyn was quiet for a moment, then beginning another round of interrogation, this time about what games they might play at the festival. Elfwine, yawned, and leaned back on the bench, letting the chatter fill his ears.

"Were you lying about being tired?"

Elfwine opened an eye to see Ísond staring at him, her arms full of books and her skirt dusty.

"I never lie," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping Mother with her correspondence. I thought Léofwyn was the only one asking stupid questions."

"Her questions are not stupid," he replied, frowning at his sister. Exactly the middle child, Ísond had a strong sense of dramatics. She sniffed at his response.

"Of course you would think that."

"Ísond!" Ever with the ears of a bat, Mother looked up, a reproachful expression on her face. Ísond has the decency to blush, and took her cue to leave, but not before sticking her tongue at Elfwine before she disappeared through the door. Mother sighed, and Léofwyn leaned her head on her shoulder.

"Mother," Elfwine began. "I saw a young woman in the corridor whom I do not quite, er, recall. Who is she?"

The queen raised her brows, and he squirmed, suddenly feeling about six years old. "You might describe her, Elfwine. I cannot read your mind, and there are many young people hereabouts."

"Erm, dark hair, dark eyes…silver frock?"

"That is Elessar's eldest daughter. She is spending the summer with us."

Elfwine felt himself pale.

"Did you not recognize her?" Mother asked, her eyes shrewd. "I understood that you met one another at Eldarion's court presentation."

"Of course I recognized her!" He fumbled with the words. "I only forgot her name; that was five years ago after all. What is it, by the way?"

Mother was smiling. "Her name is Gilræn. But I must warn you that if you mention to her that you forgot it, she will likely tan your hide."

"Thank you for the warning."

The door opened again, and with a squeal Léofwyn leapt off of her mother's lap and ran to her father. The king of the Riddermark opened his arms to swing her into a hug. "Ho, ho!" he said, pretending to stumble back. "Who is this? Why, Léofwyn - I swear you were not this big yesterday!"

"I had a big breakfast!"

"An entire boar, I wager."

"No, Da!" she giggled.

"No? Well, I hope you are hungry for the festival. I myself am anticipating a half-dozen fried scones with clotted cream, lamb pies, fire-roasted potatoes..."

Mother was packing away her work, her attention undiverted. "Elfwine, did you bring any letters from your grandfather? Or any other family?"

"Yes, I did. I have not yet unpacked my belongings, Mother, but once I do I promise I will give them to you…"

"Da, will you carry me to town?" Léofwyn was asking.

The king considered this, looking keenly at his daughter. "Are you sure that you do not wish Elfwine to carry you?"

Naturally Léofwyn did indeed wish for her brother, and Elfwine groaned, only half-joking. "Come on then," he said, standing and crouching down so that Father could swing the girl onto his shoulders.

"Good luck, son," Father said, clapping Elfwine on the back as he straightened, a little shaky with the sticky hands clamped onto his forehead. "When you are my age, you will appreciate the young'uns. Now, you -" He looked at his wife, who blushed. "I could carry you if you would like."

"My constitution is not as strong as it was," the queen said, tilting her chin. "Best not to risk it."

They smiled at each other, and knowing that this would only end in — ew, kissing — Elfwine took the opportunity to duck out of the room with Léofwyn, crouching once more as they passed through the low doorway. "We need to find Friede and Synnifa!" she crowed.

"You are getting too big for this!" Elfwine complained. "You are going to break my back! Then you shall have to carry me instead."

"I can't carry you! You are too big! I am only four." Little Léofwyn was such a perfect age to be teased, and Elfwine loved it, laughing as they tromped into the hall.

Their sisters were very easy to find, primping themselves in the polished silver plates in the hall. "Do you not have mirrors of your own?" Elfwine asked.

"One of my hairpins fell out," Synnifa said, who was indeed trying to fix her hair. It was not going well.

"I have a pimple!" Friede wailed.

"Everyone has pimples at your age," Elfwine pointed out. "Even the boys you are trying to attract."

She turned to scowl at him. "What do you know?"

Friede, having been one of Elfwine's favorite sisters, was now apparently aping Isond's moody mein. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and gave her condescending pat on the shoulder. "Someday, sister, when you grow out of your pimples, you will dearly wish them back."

"Why -"

"Because then you will be an adult," Elfwine said vaguely. "Are you coming?"

"Where are Mother and Father?" Synnifa asked, her hair falling completely out of its updo.

"They will be here presently, I believe." His shoulders were beginning to ache with Léofwyn's weight. "Ah - here they are."

"I hope you finished your cleaning this morning, ladies," the queen's voice carried as they strode into the hall, arm in arm. "I would not like at all to have to send you back early."

"We are done!" Friede said. "Gilræn helped us, then did our hair for us."

"She did a very nice job," Mother said. "I hope you thanked her."

"Of course!" Synnifa looked aghast.

Elfwine felt Léofwyn sigh, and then she said very loudly, "Let's get a move on! I want to see the trick riders."

Everyone obliged, finally starting their course down the festival which was set up just beyond the barrows outside of the city. Friede helped Synnifa to pull out the remainder of her hairpins along the way, trying to make the younger girl presentable. "Are you entering the archery tournament?" Elfwine asked.

Friede frowned. "Of course not! I am a lady, sir, and I would not dream of sullying my reputation in such a way."

"Gilræn is an accomplished archer, or so I hear," Father intoned. "I wonder if she will compete."

Silence followed his statement, and Elfwine was hard pressed not to laugh as he saw astonishment pass on Friede and Synnifa's faces. "Is it too late to fetch my bow?" Friede asked Mother. "Oh - please let me fetch it!"

"No," Mother said, voice firm. "Consider this a lesson."

"What kind of lesson - !"

Elfwine began to whistle, feeling annoyed for a number of reasons. Why on earth his sisters were practically hero-worshipping Princess Gilræn, he did not know. Why exactly he felt his hackles rise at the mention of her name, he knew a little. He was not exactly looking forward to seeing her again.

The tents wherein imported treasures and all manner of victuals were to be sold, as well as the largest tent where the awards would be given, came into sight as they hiked down the rocky path to the city gates. Music began to filter into the air, and Léofwyn squealed in excitement, making Elfwine wince.

"I see Éomund! I see him! He's over there!"

Elfwine had no way of seeing where she was pointing, but it was hard to miss the sight of his brother leading his spotted stallion through the barrows most in a most delicate manner. Éomund was kicking stones out the way before his horse could step on them, and Elfwine guffawed. His youngest brother had grown nearly two feet in Elfwine's absence, but had yet to become accustomed to his size. It made the sight all the more ridiculous.

"He is so weird!" Synnifa said, her nose wrinkling.

"Synnifa!" Mother warned.

"He had better win first prize," Father said. "Otherwise I cannot justify such infernal treatment. It's a damned horse, not a woman!"

"Eomer!" Mother exclaimed. "Do not swear!"

"I was speaking to Elfwine," the king excused himself.

"But you are not alone. Some of us have delicate ears."

So slow was Éomund's progress that his family soon caught up to him, and at once his sisters (excepting Léofwyn) began to tease him, making him blush all the way to the tips of his ears. "Mother…" he began to whine.

"Perhaps we should finish our trek enjoying the glorified and much-too-rare sound of silence," she replied.

"Hear, hear," Elfwine said.

"But -" Léofwyn began.

"Shh!"

There was not much farther to walk, and soon they passed through a juggling act and into the mess of tents and crowds of people. Elfwine lifted Léofwyn from his shoulders. "You might ask Éomund if you can ride Sunbolt to his competition," he suggested. "Mother -" he turned to her. "I am going to wander off alone. Meet you later?"

"I am sure you will find us," Father said, patting his wife's hand as she began to protest. "Just follow the bickering."

"'Bye, Elfie!" Léofwyn cried, waving from Sunbolt's back, having been lifted upon by a nauseated-looking Éomund.

As much as Elfwine loved his family, he was not quite in the mood for their exuberant company. He was still feeling displaced from his long absence, but that began to fade as he meandered through the market and passed pleasantries with many people who recognized him. His Rohirric was a little underused, but soon enough he was chattering without a second thought, only slipping into Sindarin, (which he spoke in Dol Amroth with his grandfather), once when he stubbed his toe on a tent pole. Not that the expletive he used was one he would have dared utter in Prince Imrahil's presence.

The sun was by now risen to its peak, beating down on the festival most unrelentingly. Elfwine felt sweat begin to trickle down his back, and he stopped for an ale in a shady tent. His fingers tapped on his mug, and his thoughts began to drift away to a very uncomfortable place…

"Oi!"

He looked up to see a brawny man staring him down, despite being several inches shorter than himself.

"Are ye entering the rasslin' tournament? Is about to start."

"No, but I thank you for your confidence in my wrestling ability," Elfwine said, toasting the man.

The man grunted. "Yer brother won six years in a row afore he headed off to the Deep. I figured yer made of the same stuff."

Elfwine grinned. "Eorl is made of nothing but muscle. I cannot boast the same."

"Aye. I'll be off, then."

"I wish you luck." Elfwine downed the last of his ale. His nerves now appropriately braced, and his thirst quenched, he strode forth to find the very person he did not wish to see.

It was only a matter of minutes before the woman in the silver dress came into view. She was tossing apples into nets at a stall, and he paused to admire her aim. Then he admired her long, dark-brown hair. And then her shapely figure as she leaned forward ever so slightly.

"Excellent work, madam!" The stall owner exclaimed. "Tha's the most we've had today. A gold piece, for your efforts."

"I thank you, kind sir," the woman said, and Elfwine saw her bestow a gracious smile upon the owner, who flushed red. She took her leave, and turned towards Elfwine, though he was fairly certain she had not seen him yet. She walked straight past him, not even favoring him with a greeting despite his proximity. He gawped for a moment, and then hurried after her.

"I did not realize you recognized me," she said in a cool voice, not turning to look at him. He wondered if she was speaking to another, but most of the crowd had disappeared inside the cooler tents. There was no other nearby.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, feeling wary. The little he remembered of her rather frightened him.

"If you remembered me, you would not have been so quick to leer."

Yes, she was certainly speaking to him. Elfwine tried to catch up with her, but she was walking very fast. "I did not leer," he said.

"Liar."

"I am not a liar!"

He saw her lips pull into a smile, and not a nice one. "That is all the evidence I need, and I thank you," she said. "Good day, sir."

"Wait!"

She had altered her path to cut through behind a tent, but at his word she paused, her back rigid. Then she turned, and at last, met his eyes. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. She blinked at him, her gaze quite composed. Elfwine tried to speak, but he could not. "I have done you the courtesy of waiting," she drawled. "Do me the same by saying your piece."

"Dance," he forced through his dry throat, and promptly blushed.

Her elegant brows shot skyward. "I beg your pardon?"

"The dance, er, tonight. After the feast," he fumbled. "Will you be there?"

"I intended to."

"Dance with me."

She scowled. "Certainly not. Your manners are appalling; I would never agree to such a rude demand."

The sight of her scowl seemed to surface all the memories Elfwine needed to lose his last bit of self-respect and dignity. "Please," he begged. "Please dance with me tonight."

"So charming!"

"I had not intended to dance, myself, until now," he forced through gritted teeth, his annoyance peaking. "I pray that is flattering enough to convince you. Now I have asked you twice, I would appreciate a straight answer."

"You asked once," she pointed out. "You demanded once as well."

"An answer!"

She considered him, and he felt strangely tingly. "On one condition," she said at last. "If you do remember me, as you pretend: what is my name?"

He could have laughed. "How could I forget your name, Gilræn? It is forever burned in my mind."

Gilræn had obviously not expected him to remember, and she scowled. "One dance," she said. "That is all." And she turned once more and stalked away, Elfwine left once again to stare as she disappeared.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

_29 FA_

" _I hate having a brother," the girl muttered. "My parents do not like me anymore. I bet they have not even noticed that I left the stupid party."_

 _Having six sisters, Elfwine wisely decided not to lecture, though he was felt like it. He was not feeling too happy himself. "I doubt that," he said. "You were an only child before Eldarion was born. You get exactly half of your mum and da's affection." He gazed out across the darkening sky, the mountains that bordered Mordor in the distance. This view from the roof of Minas Tirith's library was a very good one, he was lucky to have found it but not so for the girl that had joined him soon after. He had come to simmer in peace, and his resentment surfaced. "And you are lucky for it!" he continued, clenching his fist. "For I only have one-tenth. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat!"_

" _You would want to be a princess?" Gilræn smirked at him._

" _No-o-o," he rolled his eyes. "I want to be an only child."_

 _She considered this, scratching her elbow. "It is not very fun," she admitted at last. "I rather envy the camaraderie you share with your siblings."_

" _It only seems fun because you aren't embroiled in it. It's horrible! Once Eorl put a frog in my bed. A frog! And he is younger than me, too — I should be the one pulling pranks! But I can't because I'm the stupid heir and I must be a perfect model of behavior."_

 _Gilræn shrugged. "Who cares? You should be yourself anyway. You were you before you were the crown prince, anyway."_

" _Sure, for about a week. I don't even remember it."_

" _You and Eldarion," she scoffed, an ugly frown twisting her face. "Dumb babies."_

 _Elfwine felt now that she had gone too far. He detested feeling like he had to compete for his parents' attention, but he did enjoy playing with his siblings when they were very young. But he could not admit to this grouchy princess that he liked babies. "Anyway," he said._

" _How old are you?" she interrupted._

" _Er - twenty-one. Why?"_

" _Just wondering." But Gilræn sighed. He felt awkward._

" _Um, how old are you?" he asked._

" _Sixteen," she muttered. "But it does not signify. Shouldn't you return to the party now? You at least might be missed."_

* * *

 _34 FA_

Elfwine scuffed his boot in the dirt, his hands in his pockets. If his mother were around, he would surely be reprimanded for both his despicable posture and his surly expression. He had learned a great deal of self control since that embarrassing rooftop conversation with Gilræn, even if it now was not manifest. His cheeks burned as he recalls snippets of what he had said. He was a fool to have sought her out again.

And yet there was something about her, something that had been absent five years ago. Something desireable. Something that could draw him him, and something that might also just get his ass whipped by the king of Gondor.

He was definitely not fated for the relaxing summer at home for which he had hoped. Gilræn was still as irascible as ever, and as afeared as he was to cross swords with her again, he was worried too for himself. Elfhelm, his father's old friend, had once treated Elfwine to a long, drunken rant on the king's languishing when he had fallen in love with a princess of Gondor. If love was as debilitating to the men of his family as it seemed... Elfwine swore and scowled at the ground, even as he felt his stomach flutter nervously. The princess had married Father, anyway. And they were still happy.

The sun had just set, and hundreds of people were beginning to assemble for the dancing, which would last all night long. He had yet to see Gilræn, and he both anticipated and dreaded seeing her again.

What in Arda had he been thinking? He should be hiding.

A huge hand clapped on his shoulder, and he startled violently.

"Hullo! I won first prize!" Éomund's grinning face, filled his vision, and Elfwine forced a smile. His brother was waving about a bag of coins, which rattled.

"Congratulations," he said. "I saw the competition; it was a tough one. I am most impressed."

"Well - l," Éomund's ears turned red. "Thank you, brother. I am happy to hear you say that."

Elfwine stared. Éomund looked extraordinarily touched, and he wondered why. Was he really seeking Elfwine's approval? But...why? "You care for Sunbolt very well," he said in all honesty. "You deserve the prize."

"Aww…" Éomund said, digging the toe of his boot in the ground just as Elfwine had done just moments before. "I could - I could help you with your horse, any time."

"I would appreciate it," Elfwine grinned. "Béma knows Evil-Eater needs some discipline."

Éomund grimaced. "You never changed that nag's name?"

"Never got 'round to it," he shrugged. "Normally I just call him Shit-Eater, it fits him better."

Éomund roared with laughter, his carrying tones sounding almost exactly like their father's, and Elfwine joined in though less enthusiastically. As much as he envied every bit of his father which he saw in his brothers and not himself, it was a very contagious laugh.

"I am going to find Da to tell him that I won," Éomund said, still chortling as he wiped his eyes. "He will be so proud!"

"Yes, he will," Elfwine agreed. "Are they staying for the dancing?"

"Nah. I asked earlier and he said they are too old to stay up all night. Besides, Léofwyn will need to go to bed and I think they will take Synnifa with them too. There was an awful row about it."

"What about Friede?"

Éomund grimaced, all humor gone. "I have been assigned as her chaperone for the night."

"Bad luck!" Elfwine did not envy his brother this duty, but immediately felt disgusted at his disloyal thoughts. "Say, bring her around to me when you need a break. I grew a pretty thick skin around Cousin Aeliel in Dol Amroth."

"Thank ye, brother!" Éomund threw him a final, grateful look, and left. Elfwine sighed. His brother had eased some of his apprehension, but now it returned in full force. While they had been speaking, several lines began to form for the dancing. Where was Gilræn? The music began.

Midsummer's Eve had always been one of his favorite holidays. Summers in the Mark being relatively mild, the nights were very cool and pleasant. With the right amount of dancing and drink it was easy to stay up to toast the dawn. Elfwine had many amusing Midsummer memories, especially with his older sisters, who had long since married and left Edoras. He wondered why Aoife, the eldest, had not come in from Snowbourne for the holiday or even to see him. His pride pricked a little at this. Ebba had relocated to Dale and of course he could not expect a visit from her; he recalled Mother writing to him while he was in Dol Amroth that she was expecting another child. And of course he had seen Jórahild not three weeks ago, having stopped at her home in Lossonarch for a brief visit before continuing on to the Mark. Though she was three years younger than him, she was so sweet and caring that she had always been his favorite sister. They, along with burly Eorl, had never lacked for mischief in their younger years.

Elfwine felt his heart squeeze, and he sighed. Then, before his unhappy thoughts could continue, he saw Gilræn walking towards him with her nose in the air, and he choked.

She had changed into something far more appropriate for celebrating in the outdoors: a grey wool gown with silver trimmings. It suited her very well, and for the first time Elfwine was reminded that she had elven blood. Her dark, cascading curls, pinned half-up, fairly glinted in the torchlight. She was glowering in his direction, but glowing too. He swallowed.

"Good evening," she said, stopped a few steps away from him.

"H-hullo," he managed, hating that he found it so difficult to form sentences when she was near him.

She grimaced. "I would care to dance with you sooner rather than later, sir, if it is all the same to you. I wish to _enjoy_ the remainder of the evening." But she would not enjoy dancing with him. Her tone made it obvious.

"The next one, then," Elfwine said. She turned away, her arms folded as she watched the dancers with dark eyes. He continued to stare at her, amazed that such a gawky youth could have matured into someone so...elegant. Five years be damned, this was a century's worth of transformation. Her hair was silky instead of matted, her skin was clear and clean, and she was not hiding in unbecoming drapes of excessive clothing. What could have spurred on such a change, when last he had seen her she was so miserable?

Then he felt himself flush. Mother would box his ears, if she knew what he was thinking. _There is more to a woman than her appearance!_ , he had heard many times in his youth, directed mostly to his sisters but to himself once too, when he had found himself twitterpated at age seventeen for a nobleman's buxom daughter.

The dance ended, and with a pang of trepidation Elfwine bowed low to Gilræn, who sniffed at him but took his proffered hand. "It is a simple dance," he found himself growling to her in a low voice. "Not an execution. At least pretend that you do not wish to stomp on my feet."

She glared at him, and he clasped her waist rather too tightly. Her fingernails dug into his hand. "If I wish to stomp on your feet, I shall," she muttered as the next set of music began.

"And you shall have it paid back in turn, wench! You are sorely testing my patience."

Gilræn scowled.

"I do not deserve this treatment from you. I have done nothing to offend."

She gaped at him, and then huffed in indignation. "You - you -" she began, then faltered.

"What did I do?" he prompted.

"You leered at me!"

"That has already been established, though it was debatable in the first place. I did not realize you held such petty grudges."

"And you demanded that I dance with you without so much as a by-your-leave!"

"For which I made amends. Do you not accept restitution either? You would make a very poor diplomat; such a shame you were born a princess!"

Gilræn's face was red, her scowl quite black. Elfwine was not sure where his temper was coming from; he was generally not disposed to dramatics. He felt red, too. "I am sorry," he said, gentling his tone. "I should not have -"

"Stop!" Her expression had grown devastated, and if he were not mistaken there were tears gathered in her eyes. "I deserved it."

Elfwine had stiffened, his shame burning bright. "No, ma'am, there is never an excuse for rudeness, especially to a lady."

She laughed humorlessly, avoiding his gaze. They continued to dance, each unable or unwilling to break the silence that descended upon them. Elfwine sorted through his memories of their rooftop coze so many years ago, searching for something he could speak to her about about her life. But all that he remembered was not very nice for her, or embarrassing for him. "Have you enjoyed your stay in Edoras?" he asked, at long last deciding to at least ask something that was unlikely to lead to dreadfully strong emotions.

"Yes, very much," Gilræn said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I rather like not being recognized."

"Why should being recognized make a difference?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Her lips disappeared into a thin line, and Elfwine could have hit himself. "It makes a difference, sir, because I am not held to a standard of eternal patience, beauty, and graciousness. A standard which is impossible to maintain, might I remind you, because I am, after all, _mostly_ mortal.."

He did remember her saying something similar five years earlier. _It is so hard having an elf for a mum!_ , she'd said. _Everyone expects me to be just like her, but I'm not! I look like my papa!_ "I can imagine the burden that is eased by living here, then," he said, feeling like a vague agreement was the best path. She sneered, definitely not looking like her mother. Elfwine decided not to point it out. "Have you travelled around the Mark very much?" he asked.

"I spent a night in Aldburg on my way in," she said. "I was hoping to see the Glittering Caves soon, Papa has told me of their beauty."

"The caves are certainly worth a visit! I ought to go to Helm's Deep soon myself, I have not been to see my great-aunt in far too long," Elfwine said, and he inwardly cringed. "Or my brothers."

"You have brothers in Helm's Deep?" Gilræn asked, her brows drawing together.

"Yes; Eorl and Folcred."

"I did not know!" Her expression, having been wistful, turned into agony. "I have been here two months and I did not know! Gods, I am an idiot!"

"You are not an idiot," Elfwine said, suppressing a grin. "There are a lot of us to keep track of."

Gilræn glared at him. Again. "Your condescension is unnecessary, sir. Would you be so kind to leave me with your sister?"

He stared at her, finally registering that the music had ceased before stopping himself midstep. Gilræn pitched forward and he caught her firmly, setting her upright. She yanked her arms away. "Never mind," she snapped. "I shall take myself."

"Absolutely not!" Elfwine said, suppressing a snarl as he caught an arm to tuck through his, keeping a tight grip on her hand. "You will not dissuade me from my _gentlemanly_ duties!"

She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a very vulgar Sindarin phrase, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. What was the woman's problem with him, anyway? And why did it bother him?

"You are going the wrong direction, sir; Friede is by the green tent," Gilræn said. Elfwine altered their path, his jaw ticking at the sight of her smirk.

"I must thank you for obliging me with a dance," he said, remembering to be courteous.

"I must thank _you_ for allowing me to finish my disdainful duty early on," she retorted. "Which was unwillingly done, I must say."

"I did notice."

"Ah! Friede!" Gilræn rushed forward, embracing his sister but not without a scowl thrown over her shoulder in his direction.

"Were you dancing with Elfwine?" Friede asked, looking strangely at them.

"Yes," he said before Gilræn could speak. "And now it is your turn. Friede, if you would, I would very much like your company. It has been two summers since last we celebrated together."

Friede looked pleased at his request, but Gilræn cut across. "Just because you are her brother does not give you liberty to force her around!" she said in a shrill voice.

This confused Friede, and she looked back and forth between them and noticing the metaphorical daggers pointing every which way. "I will dance with you, Elfwine," she said. "But you should ask Ísond first. She has not spoken a word to me all evening! She is over there."

Elfwine followed her gaze to see Ísond leaning against a tent pole, her nose stuck between the pages of a book. He sighed. "Should Éomund not be with you?"

"He left me with Ísond. I think he set up a target for axe-throwing," Friede informed him, lifting her nose in the air.

"No! How utterly improper!" Gilræn said.

"How utterly like Éomund," Elfwine said dryly. "Steer away from the axes, ladies, I would hate to have to cart your dismembered bodies back up to Meduseld." He left their horrified expressions and left to bother Ísond. She was put out when he asked her for a dance, but agreed anyway, laying aside her book to take his hand. "You could have stayed in Meduseld, if you wished to read," he commented as they began a lively country dance.

"So could you have, if you were not so intent on showering your angry mood on all of us," she snapped.

"I am not angry," he growled, swinging her around.

"Liar!"

"For your information, I was perfectly happy until I was _enjoying_ the company of the women here," Elfwine said, giving her a pointed look. "And what, may I ask, is your excuse?"

To his surprise, Ísond blushed as she snarled, "None of your business, _brother._ "

"Great Béma above," he sighed. "Ísond, I am sorry, I have been all out-of-sorts tonight."

She studied him for a moment, then said, "I forgive you. Mother did say, I recall, that you might regret getting so little sleep last night…"

"You will be a great mum, Ísond."

Ísond bit her lip. "Elfwine, I…" she stopped. "Do you remember when Aoife first met Gárwine?"

"Unfortunately, I do."

"You were very kind to keep their romance a secret until they were ready to tell Mother and Father."

Elfwine shrugged. "They were always kind to me. It was the least I could do; after all, what else could brothers be for, if not for covering up their sisters' mischief?"

"I am in love," Ísond blurted.

He stared, realization dawning. "You want me to cover it up. For Béma's sake, you could tell Mother and Father yourself. They are not bears, you know! They have yet to disapprove a match." She mumbled something, and over the music Elfwine was hard pressed to hear. "What was that?" he asked to her downcast face.

"He is a _baker_! I love a baker; at least Gárwine was a son of a lord," Ísond was now looking like she might start weeping, and Elfwine grew alarmed. "And Ebba married a prince, and of course Eorl loved Gúthild since they were children, with she being Elfhelm's daughter…"

"Baker or stable-mucker, it does not signify," Elfwine said. "I suppose...it only matters who I marry, anyway. You can do what you like."

"Do you really think so?" Ísond's watery eyes met his.

"Of course. That fustian notion of keeping blood 'pure and noble' is disappearing anyway. Cousin Alphros married a reformed whore, after all. Father did find that most amusing."

"Yes, but Alphros is not _his_ child."

"Ísond," Elfwine said, and looked firmly at her. "Mother and Father will be pleased that you have finally found a place for yourself. You might be considered little old to still be living with them, after all," he added, trying to tease a little good humor into her.

It did not quite work, and she scowled. "I am only twenty-two!"

"And the eldest at home."

"You are the eldest at home, idiot!"

He did not rise to the bait, and smiled benignly. "I have little choice," he said. "You should tell Mother and Father that you intend to marry a baker and I am sure they will send you off most spectacularly. Is that why you are here tonight, anyway?"

"Yes," Ísond blushed again, smiling slightly. "Déor said he would be by after he cleaned the ovens. He has been busy all day with the festival!"

"It will be hard work, being his wife."

"I know. I shall find a way a manage, even if I can only read at night."

Of course she was worried most for her books. Elfwine grinned just as the music was ending. "Where can I leave you, for your handsome Déor to find you?"

Her pleasant expression hardened into something he was more accustomed to receiving, and she rolled her eyes. "Where I was would be preferable, brother." He linked her arm through his, and they wove through the crowd. "Thank you for the dance," she said, warming slightly. "I enjoyed myself."

"As did I. Do let me know when you intend to introduce Déor to the family; I shan't wish to miss that!" He winked, but did not receive a kick as he expected to, merely another glare. Béma, Ísond really was in love. He watched her pick up a book and wander away, and then shook himself. Now, where had Gilræn — his stomach tightened at the thought of her — stolen Friede away to?


	3. Chapter 3

_29 FA_

" _Do you know what the absolute worst part of being a princess is?"_

 _Elfwine suppressed a groan. Would she ever stop talking? Sunsets were meant to be enjoyed in peace, alone. Not with some prattering girl. "No, I do not," he said._

" _Everyone is scared of me!" she said, passion filling her voice. "As if I could order their executions. Gods, why would anyone think that I would want the death of anyone who approached me?"_

Because you are insane _, Elfwine thought, feeling uncharitable._

" _I have never met a man who does not defer to me like, like...a squirming toad," Gilræn's voice had quieted now, and her bottom lip was stuck out. "Even my maid has been flirted with and kissed, and she is four months younger than I!"_

" _Perhaps men simply think you are unapproachable," Elfwine ventured. "They see you as...unwelcoming, or cold. It is not at all pleasurable to kiss a statue."_

" _Do you know that from experience?"_

" _No," he snapped. "I have only kissed women who wish to be kissed. I can only assume that trying to romance a woman who acts lofty or arrogant is a fate worse than death."_

" _Braggart."_

" _Oh, give it a rest, you wench. I did not escape the party to listen to your complaints."_

 _Gilræn mimicked him, and he glowered in anger. "Then go away," she said. "This is my hiding place, not yours."_

" _I was here first."_

" _Fustian!"_

" _Wench."_

 _She stilled, and stiffened. But instead of goading him further, she said, "Perhaps I am simply bad at kissing."_

" _Probably." Elfwine watched her jaw tightened, and felt a sense of sick satisfaction. "If you are so concerned, you ought to find a gullible boy to practice on," he suggested, knowing somehow that she would not like that idea at all._

 _To his astonishment, she considered this with a serious expression, biting her lip in deep thought. A pit of dread filled his stomach: what would she do? And would it cause her father to search out Elfwine - the instigator of bad ideas - to thrash him for whatever nonsense Gilræn got herself into? She turned to him, steeling herself. "Teach me, then. If you are so experienced as you claim, which I doubt."_

 _Elfwine scowled. "I am not a liar, and I do not appreciate being termed as such," he said, his tone hard._

" _Then prove yourself."_

 _He hardly had a choice._

* * *

 _34 FA_

Elfwine felt sick as he remembered their conversation long ago. How easily duped he was — indeed, playing so willingly the gullible boy — by the silly princess. Why should she have cared about kissing, anyway? She had only been sixteen. When he was sixteen he had still picked his nose; he'd cared little for the female sex.

He watched Gilræn and Friede from the rim of his mug of ale, to where they were chattering closely, looking very much like bosom friends. When had that happened?

As he cast his thoughts back, he wondered how he could have forgotten the princess at all. He remembered how her dark eyes had glittered with a thousand stars after he'd kissed her; how her cheeks and lips had turned pink, bringing a most attractive flush to her skin. The frizzy, dark curls that hung over her shoulder, begging to be touched. He remembered that her mouth had tasted somehow of lavender, although he had been fairly certain supper had not been served yet. Even the curves of her body, still somewhat angular, had felt strangely magnetic pressed against him. Was it elf magic?

He reddened as Gilræn suddenly turned her head towards him, giving him a most deathly glare. This one he was certain he did not deserve, unless she had somehow read his thoughts. Had she? Could elves do that? How elven was she, anyway? Not too elven, he guessed - she had been a horrible kisser just as he predicted. But she had learned quickly enough. He felt his color deepen.

Friede saw Elfwine too, and waved. He returned it, motioning to ask if she was ready to dance with him yet. She brightened, and Gilræn tugged on her hand, looking ready to deliver some sort of scathing remark. This lead to a minor argument, and after a few interesting moments Friede turned from her friend and walked to Elfwine. Gilræn glowered in the distance.

"I think she hates you," Friede said with her customary, adolescent forthrightness.

"I appreciate your honesty," Elfwine said, setting down his ale. "Dance?"

"Most certainly."

He led her to the square, shouldering through the crowd which seemed to be multiplying. It was still about two hours to midnight, and already tables were being set up for the feast. After the feast, which began at midnight, there would be singing around large bonfires and the less hearty folk would retire to their beds. Then the dancing would start again, and continue until dawn when another meal would be shared from the feast's leftovers. Elfwine recalled a particularly hairy year when he and Eorl had accidently fallen asleep outside the front gate until noon, when their father had found them in a rather foul mood, kicking them awake with a black expression. _You should be back at the hall!,_ he'd bellowed. _Your mother is worried sick! Drink all the blasted ale you need to feel like men, but come home, damnit!_

Friede was watching him. "Gilræn has an ink drawing of you in her bedchamber," she announced.

"What?"

"I think she only pretends to hate you."

Elfwine was struggling to process this information. "Where would she obtain a drawing of…of me?"

Friede scoffed. "At nearly any market, dunderhead!"

"But…"

"I tell you straight," she said, as if she had been blundering before. "You are very popular with women, Elfie. Anyone with any drawing talent has capitalized on it somehow. I found Gilræn's when I was searching for a comb."

"Does she know you found it?"

"No. I was alone at the time."

"You rummage through her belongings so casually?"

"She sent me for the comb!" Friede snapped.

"But..why would she have it?"

"For combing her hair."

"I was referring to the drawing."

"Oh," Friede shrugged. "I think she has tender feelings for you. I know that at least two housemaids have your portrait as well."

"You said that she hates me."

"Those are one and the same," Friede said mysteriously. "You really know nothing about women, brother."

"I am beginning to agree with you," Elfwine was feeling dizzy, which may have been in part because of the ale. Gilræn liked him? And she showed it...how? "Say, Friede," he said slowly. "How could I, erm, attract, or...ask Gilræn, or even just have a non-confrontational conversation with her…?"

Friede grimaced. "Béma! I do not know _that_ much about it."

"Never mind; please do forget that I asked. And do not tell her!"

"Tell her? I would not! I am an excellent secret keeper."

Elfwine eyed his younger sister. "But you told me that Gilræn has my portrait."

"Gilræn never _told_ me it was a secret…"

He threw his head back and laughed, and Friede giggled. "You, my girl, would make an excellent counselor," he said, still chortling. "I think you could win us half of Gondor's lands, if you wished to."

"That might make Gilræn very unhappy," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "We would not want that, would we?"

"No," he smiled. "I think she will be distressed enough when she discovers you have told me her secret."

"She never said…"

"Nonetheless," Elfwine continued. "It was a secret, as I assume she has not spoken of it."

"Do you like her?"

Friede's question took him aback, and he choked. "Like her? She and I have never exchanged a kind word!"

His sister shrugged this away. "I do not know very much about love, but I do not think that immediate success or failure signifies anything. Did Father not pine over Mum for almost two years before she agreed to marry him? Life is full of obstacles."

Elfwine stared at her. Friede was an odd one; hugely contradictory but surprisingly wise for her age. He suddenly regretted losing the last eighteen months without her. "We shall have to wait for the outcome then," he said. "Now, about you giving up your archery…"

"I am not giving up archery," Friede assured him. "Gilræn already convinced me otherwise."

The music ended with a final twirl. Elfwine smiled again at his sister, and asked, "Would you care for some refreshment?"

"I think not, I already promised Giraen I would -" Friede's eyes shifted to his left before hardening, and she muttered, "Shit."

"Oi! That's no language for -"

"Look!"

Elfwine swung about, and saw. Gilræn, having been left alone with Ísond gone and himself monopolizing Friede, had apparently become a target for some of the more intoxicated youths. One was pulling at her skirt, another tugging her hair. Her face was beet-red as she tried to slap their hands away. Elfwine felt as if he had been punched in the gut, and he growled under his breath.

"Why did she not leave?" Friede said, hurrying to follow Elfwine's stalking form. He did not hear her; his ears rung with a hazy anger that seemed to distort his vision. He clenched the tunic of the grabbiest of the youths in one hand and landed him such a blow in the face that the youth fell senseless to the ground, blood spurting from his nose. The other two boys scrambled to run away, but Elfwine caught one on the back, lifting him from the ground by the scruff of his neck and his trousers to send him hurtling through the air. Elfwine spun about, ready to dispose of the last one, but Friede had already done so. The final youth was crumpled on the ground, holding his knee and moaning.

"Did you kick him?" Elfwine asked Friede, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, yes! Went down like an anvil!" she said with a massive smile.

Gilræn whimpered. Elfwine turned to her, and saw two big fat tears running down her cheeks. She caught his eye, and burst into sobs.

* * *

The princess was shaking, even with Friede's cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Elfwine could not see a shred of the offensive, complaining, and obstinate woman he knew, and studied her as she sipped slowly from a cup of ale.

They were sitting at one of the feast tables, Friede with her arm around Gilræn's shoulders and Elfwine sitting across from them. He tapped his fingers on the table, only half-listening to Friede's murmurs. "I should not have left you alone, it is not your fault! I should have warned you; this happens most often at festivals, I am so very sorry…"

"It is my fault," Gilræn croaked. "I should know how to defend myself."

"No, it is my fault," Elfwine said. "You are my family's guest; I should take better care of your welfare."

"We all share the blame," Friede said firmly. Gilræn's eyes rose to meet Elfwine's, an openness and wistfulness reaching out to him. His heart thumped.

"I am sorry," she murmured, lowering her lashes as she traced the rim of the cup with one long, slender finger. "I have been a bother. I have always been a bother, I should -" she swallowed. "I should return."

Elfwine reached across the table, unclenching one of her hands from the cup and enclosing it in his own. "You should stay," he said gently. "You may not have another opportunity to enjoy a Rohirric Midsummer again." The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

"The feast has not even begun yet!" Friede joined in cheerily, either oblivious or uncaring of the tension between the others. "You cannot let a bad situation ruin your fun!"

Gilræn smiled, albeit wobbily. "I suppose...I could stay a little longer." Elfwine squeezed her hand.

Friede now looked back and forth between them, appearing pleased. "Elfie," she said slowly. "I think I will find Éomund and see how his axe-throwing competition is going. You can stay with Gilræn."

"Thank you for the order, _Mum_ ," he teased. "Should I seek your permission before I eat my supper?"

She stuck out her tongue and left, disappearing into the night. Elfwine turned his attention back to Gilræn, whose head remained bowed. "Before you say anything -" he began.

"Thank you," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. "Thank you for, for...your help. I do appreciate your gallantry, even if I complain about it…"

"Complain all you like," Elfwine said lightly. "I shan't take it to heart."

She took another sip of ale. Elfwine felt his mouth go dry at the sight of the princess licking the droplets off of her lips. "I feel better," she said at last. "I do not want to spoil your evening, I truly should return…"

"You are not spoiling anything," he said. "I have been to many Midsummer's nights. Come on then, I will show you one of my favorite sights."

Gilræn hesitated, staring at his offered hand as he stood. Then she frowned. "You should be dancing with pretty ladies."

"There is only one lady I wish to dance with, and I imagine that after our last dance she is not eager to repeat the experience."

She started at him. "Not m-me, surely?"

Elfwine grinned, a thrill going through his body. "Yes, you, you little widgeon."

"But...I have been so rude to you…"

"Your behavior has not been unwarranted. Do please stop this nonsense. We are adults now, no?"

* * *

 _29 FA_

" _Who're you?"_

 _Elfwine startled out of his moody reverie, looking through the twilight to see a pair of dark eyes glaring at him from the edge of the library roof, exactly where he had climbed up. "Who're you?" he repeated rudely. The person sniffed, a decidedly feminine noise._

" _I am the princess, you dolt. This is my place; go away!"_

" _And I am a prince. You cannot demand my cooperation, wench."_

* * *

 _34 FA_

Torches had been set up all around the barrows. The white blossoms that grew on them were pale in the light, fluttering in the breeze. Elfwine choose one of the least lit barrows, smoothing out the cloak for Gilræn to sit on. She tucked her legs under herself rather stiffly, and he flumped down beside her. "The summer constellations are my favorite," he said, motioning towards the sky. "Mostly because I can admire them more."

"I did not take you for a lover of stars."

"You know very little of me, princess. Yet somehow I have earned your disregard."

"And you know less of me, if you think that I dislike you."

"I have no reason to think otherwise."

She let out a breath in a huff, looking away from him with her fists clenched in her lap. "Stupid boy! I was in love with you for _years_ after that night."

Elfwine stared at the back of her neck. "I beg your pardon?"

"You really did not know?" Gilræn turned back to him, looking confused.

"Well…I -" he fumbled. "The way you treated me did not conform to my ideas of, ah love."

She groaned. "Gods! I was sixteen."

"I remember." Silence fell, and Elfwine sighed, leaning back to look better at the stars.

"It was because you did not defer to me," Gilræn said.

He felt himself stiffen. "I did not ask."

"I am telling you whether you wish to know or not!" she snapped. "You ought to know the misery you caused."

"Then by all means, rail away at me."

Gilræn sighed. "I think it is common that a girl often falls deeply in love with the first man that looks her way, especially if she is young."

"I hardly looked," Elfwine protested.

"You kissed me."

"You asked!"

He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I still do not understand why I have earned such infernal treatment. Béma, woman! I did nothing wrong."

"I know. I know, I know, I know! But I liked that you spoke plainly to me. Arguing with you made me feel...giddy, really. I was a complete goose."

Elfwine opened his eyes, watching for a moment as a breeze tugged at the curls that hung down her back. Even in the dim light, they glittered. "You were no worse than I," he said at last, voice hoarse. "I was horrible to you."

She smiled at him over her shoulder, and his stomach lurched. "You truly were," she teased. "I smarted for weeks. I still cannot believe you called me such names!"

"Let us forget about it," he said hastily, sitting up straight. "Truce?"

Gilræn eyed him, and his breath caught as he saw her eyes sparkling. A side of her he was unfamiliar with...but wished to know more. "If we truce, I cannot hold what I know of you over your head," she said, her lashes fluttering innocently.

He bit back a smile. "That can go both ways, wench. How embarrassed would _you_ be if I let it slip that you begged me for a kiss?"

"Truce it is," she relented, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it, feeling her pulse underneath her fingertips. She was awfully lovely in the moonlight, with her face turned upwards. His hold on her hand tightened...was she leaning towards him? Her eyes closed.

A clatter and a cheer sounded from the festival grounds, echoing into the night and breaking the spell. Elfwine cleared his throat, dropping Gilræn's hand like a hot coal. She wrapped her arms around her, as if trying to protect herself. "It is very pretty," she blabbered. "The stars, I mean. And the barrows are nice too."

"Very nice," Elfwine grunted, falling back down onto his back.

Silence descended between them, the noise from the feast sounding in the distance. Elfwine was feeling awfully uncomfortable, both with what had been revealed between them and for his own burgeoning feelings. If he did not take more care, he was likely to have a five-year heartache just as Gilræn had experienced. "Are you hungry?" he asked after several minutes. "The feast is well under way now."

"I have rather lost my appetite," she murmured. "But you should go, if you wish."

"I am not leaving you alone again."

"I should hate you for that, you know. I am perfectly able to care for myself. But I -" Gilræn stopped, and groaned loudly. "Gods, I am _still_ a goose!"

He sat up, feeling brave enough to pull her close to him in a half-embrace. "I will take the blame if you need me to, in order to sort out your feelings," he said. "I suppose that makes me a perfect cake."

"You should not be so understanding," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because...if you persist I may never fall _out_ of love with you."

Elfwine thought for a moment, the smell of her hair wafting close. "I shall persist in my behavior," he decided. "For it would be a terrible inconvenience if you were to fall out of love with me right when I was falling in love with you."

Gilræn made a choking noise, and she shuddered before withdrawing from his embrace. "Oh, gods! I do not think I deserve such cruelty from you -"

"If you think that my returning your affection is cruel, then we shall have a very serious problem, m'dear."

"Stop taking me for a fool - "

Deciding that it would be much more of a hassle to attempt to convince her with an argument, Elfwine drew her close once more, capturing her lips in a kiss he thought far superior to their first. She did not - or could not - resist, and a shiver went up his spine as she positively melted into his arms. He could not quite withstand the temptation to touch the inviting skin around her neck and collar, and her skin was warm and silky underneath his fingertips. He could feel her heartbeat, and felt his own hasten to match hers. Béma, this was league different than on the library rooftop!

A small whimper sounded in her throat, and with great regret Elfwine felt Gilræn draw away and effectively end the kiss. He took that as an invitation and moved his lips south to her neck, pulling her closer with his fingers in her luscious hair.

"You should stop." The words vibrated in her throat, and Elfwine ignored her. There were goosepimples across her skin; he doubted she much wanted to stop. Then she shuddered, and said more firmly, "Stop!"

Elfwine drew back. Gilræn's cheeks were very red, and she was biting her bottom lip. The neckline of her frock had been pulled down on her shoulder somewhat - was that his doing?

"Elfwine," she said. "Elfwine. You must not tempt me so -"

"I could say the same to you," he smiled, brushing back her hair.

"I cannot be dallying with immature princes! I am of an age to marry, and I must consider my future."

"Immature? I am five years older than you!"

"And you act like you are five years younger, sir," Gilræn scowled at him.

"Then what would be an appropriate age for me to marry?"

She studied him, tapping her chin with a finger. "Well, Father married Mother when he was eighty-seven, so…"

Elfwine laughed, also noticing that her eyes were sparkling. " will be long dead before then, I fear," he chortled. "Let alone able to, ah, conceive an heir."I

"You have plenty of siblings to see to that small detail."

"Let me make sure I understand you: you will marry me when I am eighty-seven? - for then you will be eighty-two. Do you truly wish to wait so long?"

Gilræn shrugged. "It may take that long for us to stop fighting."

What a sense of humor this girl had! Elfwine chuckled again, liking very much the blush on her cheeks. "Well, you may have nerves of iron to wait," he said. "But I do not. Perhaps we can compromise."

She was biting her lips again, deep in thought. "Perhaps you ought to kiss me again," she suggested at last. "That may help me to decide."

Elfwine liked these negotiations.

* * *

The dewy grass was wet and cold on his hands, but it was worth keeping Gilræn from feeling it. She was tucked up against him, lying on poor Friede's cloak, breathing small, warm, and sleepy breaths on his face. He liked it very much, and in fact had refrained from dozing as she had, simply so he could enjoy it longer. They probably would not have such a chance to be alone for quite some time, and he meant to make the most of it. Negotiations had gone very well, and despite their rather rocky start, Elfwine felt confident that he and Gilræn would rub along with each other quite happily. Of course she had insisted on a long courtship, but he thought they could manage that too. It would certainly be worth the wait.

The sky had begun to turn grey a few minutes earlier, the still of dawn making the barrows an exceptionally peaceful place. Even the dancing had quieted much earlier, and soon breakfast would be served. Elfwine's leg cramped from lying still for so long, and he shifted.

"Is that Elfie?" A small voice sounded in the air.

He felt his insides freeze as his eyes flew open. Gilræn shifted, mumbling something inaudible.

"Oh, it is! Elfie! Elfie!"

He lifted his head so that he could see a sight which he truly did not wish to: his family; Father, Mother, Synnifa, Léofwyn, and even Ísond, Friede and Éomund - all presumably on their way to the festival grounds for the morning meal. They all stared at him, with varying expressions: Mother was horrified; Éomund awed; Léofwyn and Friede both joyus; Ísond exasperated, and Father began to roar with laughter in the stunned silence. Gilræn jolted awake, and sat up with a gasp as she saw their audience.

"Béma, boy!" Father said as he calmed, pulling Mother close even as she clenched her jaw. "I hope I am present when you tell her father about this. Aragorn is going to whip your ass! I cannot wait!"

 _ **END**_

* * *

 _I hope ya'll liked it! This was very fun to write and I just might visit these poor creatures again. Thank you to everyone who had read and enjoyed this little story - and most of all thank you to funkytoes for the art trade! I love you forever and ever! :)_


End file.
